VE001 - Connor x Human Reader
by chalkeater
Summary: "It may seem that being an android... is the closest I will ever be to human." - After being separated from your owner and mentor, you find yourself in Detroit. Connections with one Captain Fowler land you a makeshift home in Central Station, where you find purpose once more in assisting Lt. Hank Anderson and the prototype RK800, Connor. You are the human sent by Cyberlife.
1. Master Sergeant Fowler

_"Lieutenant Commander Gilbert,_

 _I've been in the hospital for one hundred and twenty days now. My strength has almost recovered. Movement is still a little difficult, but I can perform my duties. Please let me return to my post soon-"_

The pen spiraled out of your hand from how hard it was being gripped, and you failed to catch it as it landed on the white sheets before rolling onto the tiles. As if summoned by the clacking of plastic against linoleum, the nurse stepped in. Hearing your name pulled your gaze away from the writing utensil. You didn't answer, only watch her as she set a tray on the over-bed table, your letter ignored in place of toast, a few cubes of assorted fruits, and a cup of water.

"Thank you," you said flatly.

By now, the young woman was accustomed to your monotonous speech pattern, giving you a small smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

You finished breakfast whilst staring out the window to the right of your bed. A few blocks away, you saw Toronto's HTO park. Today, there was- to your confusion- a yellow rubber duck floating in the lake, about the size of a small hotel.

Frowning at the idea of your vision failing you, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feet flat on the cold tiles. If your vision was impaired, the Lieutenant Commander may have no use for you. You stood.

"Are you alright?!"

You had collapsed. Looking up, you saw the nurse's worried expression and the face of an equally concerned man.

"Lieutenant Commander... Is he with you?" you asked the man, turning your head and pulling yourself up to sit on the bed to look behind him.

"He's... not here."

"Where is he? Did he return home? How are his injuries?" You paused, glancing down at the floor for a moment before locking eyes once more with the dark-skinned man. "Is he alive?"

Discomfort settled on his face, "He's-"

"You're being discharged from the hospital today," the nurse interjected cheerfully, "Captain Fowler came all this way to pick you up, you know."

You stood quickly, realizing your mistake. Your vision blackened for a few seconds from the sudden rise, but you kept your feet planted. "Master Sergeant Fowler. I had forgotten you were a Master Sergeant. I apologize."

"Sit down," he said, lightly pushing a hand down on your shoulder. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"We met twice in the past: during training and the week prior to the Lieutenant Commander's deployment to the Arctic."

"Yeah, you're right." Fowler coughed and scratched the back of his neck. He took a seat beside you and looked to the table, noticing the corner of a piece of paper sticking out underneath the grey breakfast tray. Curiously, he moved the tray onto the bed sheets behind him, picking up the letter. He hadn't seen a letter in too long- one not in type, that is. "You were writing?"

"The physical therapist advised writing to improve my condition, but you still haven't answered me. Where is the Lieutenant Commander?" You repeated.

He huffed. "Don't worry, he's just fine... He's the one who told me to come get you."

"What post is he assigned to now? When will I be able to join him?"

Standing, he walked towards the door. "Get changed. We'll talk more in the car." Fowler gestured to a suitcase at the foot of your bed that you hadn't noticed before. He must have brought it. "Your things from the base are in there."

You dug into it immediately, rifling around the books and clothing. Your naval uniform was gone, but that wasn't your main concern. "I'm missing an emerald brooch."

"That's everything from your quarters at the base," Fowler frowned.

"It isn't here." Your breathing quickened. "He gave it to me. I have to look for it. It isn't here, it isn't-"

He grabbed your arm and locked eyes with you for a moment. The nurse took this as her cue to leave. "Calm. Down." He spoke slowly. You smelled the coffee on his breath. "I'll find it. Right now, you need to get dressed. I'll be in the hall."

After he closed the door behind him, you did as you were told, calming your breathing as you changed. You pulled on black pants, thinking of where the brooch could be. He had said that was everything from your room? It took longer than usual to button up your white shirt, but after writing everyday for hours on end, your fine motor skills were admittedly improving. _But I never used the dresser assigned to me. I got things from my suitcase as necessary._ You scowled at the open suitcase as you tucked in your shirt, then looped a black belt into your pants. _I never unpacked. It should be here._ Pulling on the blazer, you considered dumping the contents of the suitcase but decided against it. Fowler was waiting.

"I'm supposed to take care of you... or find someone to, at least. His orders." Fowler reassured you as he drove.

You sat in the passenger seat with your hands folded in your lap. "I understand, Master Sergeant."

He scoffed. "You can stop with that. I'm not in the Air Force anymore, but if you insist on titles, you can call me Captain." You tilted your head at this. "I'm in charge of a precinct."

"Oh," you said quietly. So quietly, you wondered if you had only mouthed it.

"Detroit is still another three hours from here. You can go ahead and sleep, I won't mind."

"I'm alright." Fowler looked at you for a moment, studying the design on your blazer. Thinking back to the letter from Gilbert, he bit his tongue and refrained from asking any questions. It was none of his business, and although he'd become used to knowing near everything at the station, he would respect his old friend's wishes.

For the next three hours, you sat in silence, thoughts torn between your future as an asset and the whereabouts of the Lieutenant Commander.


	2. Meeting

You awoke at 06:30am as usual, opening your eyes to the ceiling of one of the DPD Central Station's storage rooms. Captain Fowler had given you the only key-card to the long since forgotten room.

Gilbert's instructions were to bring you to live with his distant relatives in Detroit, but upon bringing you there, the elderly couple had responded... poorly to your attire. Fowler blamed himself for the incident, admitting that he should've told you to remove your CyberLife branded blazer before meeting them, considering the ongoing situation regarding cases of the company's deviant androids. In his error, he apologized by letting you stay at the station. No one said much of it, save for a few passing comments of "another tin can" wandering the building.

Their assumption wasn't an issue, so you didn't bother correcting them.

The week you moved in, you had rearranged the storage room as much as necessary, that is to say, very little. You moved and stacked just enough crates to make room for a simple cot in the corner, your suitcase stowed away underneath. After visiting the CyberLife building, they'd supplied you with more of the same uniform, which you folded neatly on top of one of the shorter, longer crates beside your cot. They were a bit surprised to see you, but greeted you warmly. You didn't feel as comfortable.

You exchanged your black t-shirt and grey sweatpants- you owned five sets of this outfit- for your uniform, taking time to fix your hair. Your hand drifted to your collar. The captain never got back to you about the brooch, and you never missed it any less. You needed it back.

It was now 7 o'clock. You exited your room and made your way to the kitchen area. A handful of officers would be coming here in two to three minutes. You heard them talking among themselves as they entered the station. You turned around, a cup of coffee in hand. On the table beside you were seven other cups with initials on them. You'd noted how the seven early officers preferred theirs, and left a sticky note on in the inside of a cabinet for yourself, listing how much sugar or cream per cup. Since you didn't actually work at the station, it was something to keep you busy during your time there, and you appreciated fillers like this.

The group thanked you, some kindly and others a bit coldly. Two of them even greeted you first with a "good morning." You didn't care much for their opinion of you, but internally confessed that the day did go smoother when you were generally liked.

Still holding a cup, you walked to the captain's office, knocking gently on the door and pushing it open when he nodded and waved you inside. "Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning," he sighed, eyes not leaving the monitor. "Before you ask, no. I don't have any orders for you." Glancing up, he eyed the coffee in your hand, a _JF_ written on it. "I'll take that, though."

Handing it to him, you asked anyway: "Captain, are you sure there isn't anything I can assist with?"

Another sigh. He pointed to one of the empty desks outside, "That terminal is unassigned. I'll send you recordings of witness and suspect interrogation sessions. Just... go ahead and transcribe them."

"Would I be making a difference in the workload around here?" You questioned, skeptical of what seemed to just be busy work.

"Not immediately." Fowler looked up at your deflated expression, taking a deep breath before continuing softly, "A typed transcription wouldn't just be for redundancy. Say if someone on the Red Ice Task Force needed to review a session for a name, date, place- whatever- it'd be easier to search a document 'stead of hours of audio. That make sense?"

You nodded.

"Thanks. I'm sure they'll thank you, too."

You'd started from the most recent sessions, figuring they would be the most urgent since they dealt with the majority of red ice and deviant cases. Rolling your shoulders and straightening in your chair, you pulled up the next recording. It was one from yesterday: November 6th, 2038. 12:35am. A deviant who'd killed his owner.

The first few minutes of footage were of one Lieutenant Hank Anderson questioning the deviant to no avail. You looked up from the screen and around the office, but you didn't see him. He must not have arrived at the station yet. Pressing play again, you watched the deviant sit alone for a minute. Then, another android stepped in. You recognized him. You'd glanced over him when you swept the room for Hank. He was dressed almost identically to you in a CyberLife provided uniform. The only differences were his tie and lettering on his blazer. Yours didn't have a serial number nor "ANDROID" printed across the back, and where his read 'RK800,' yours read 'VE001.'

You watched as the android, Connor as the captain referred to him, took a seat in front of the deviant. You typed away in a separate window, pausing once in a while when you had to catch up to a sentence. Writing only improved your coordination so much.

 _RK800:_ "If you don't talk, they're going to tear you apart and analyze you piece by piece. They're going to destroy you, do you understand?"

 _. . ._

 _RK800:_ "Okay then... Don't talk. Why do I care, after all? I mean, I'm not the one accused of murder, right?"

You paused the video. Something about his words and body language stirred something in you. Looking up once more, you see him still sitting in a chair beside Lieutenant Anderson's desk, idly flipping a quarter while he waited for his partner. _Envy._

Furrowing your brow at the conclusion, you brought your hand to your collar reflexively. _I... envy. I envy Connor. Why?_

Shrugging off the thought, you resumed transcribing the recording. Once in a while, you'd pause to look at Connor, who was curiously examining the lieutenant's desk. His ability to adapt and change his demeanor to suit a situation was admirable.

 _I want to be admirable_.

You looked down at your hands, flexing them through the black gloves before pressing play once more.

 _RK800:_ "Why did you write 'I am alive' on the wall?"

 _HK400:_ "He used to tell me I was nothing... That I was just a piece of plastic... I had to write it, to tell him he was wrong..."

 _. . ._

 _RK800:_ "When did you start feeling emotion?"

 _HK400:_ "Before, he used to beat me and I never said anything... But one day I realized it wasn't... fair... I felt anger... hatred... and then I knew what I had to do.

 _Feeling emotion. A deviant android can feel._ You twisted the material of your gloves around your fingers, stretching and pulling at the fabric, black threads exposed at the seams.

 _Does a human have the capacity to deviate from its biological programming?_

You looked to him again, but the chair was empty. Confused, you turned and saw him standing in front of your desk to your left. He was staring intently at the electric blue triangle sewn onto your blazer. The LED on his temple was yellow.

MODEL VE001 -

err0bject_notFound

Manufacture date: /unknown/

Property of: Gilbert Bougainvillea

Connor was puzzled by his analysis. The ID coded into the symbol certainly belonged to it; its face matched the image. Yet, its data profile seemed incomplete. Maybe even corrupted. "Are you another prototype?" he inquired.

"A... prototype?" It cocked its head. Odd.

"Yes. An experimental model." Connor noted the lack of an LED at its temple. "What is your purpose?"

It blinked, then stood. Its right hand moved to an awkward half-salute before dropping. The VE001 bowed slightly, stating what must have been its registered name. "I am to transcribe recordings of interrogation sessions for future reference until further notice from Captain Fowler."

Military habits. It must have been reassigned. Connor found this more odd. Should an android be repurposed, it should be reset. It obviously wasn't. He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped himself, noticing Lieutenant Hank Anderson in his peripheral. "Please, stay right here," Connor told it before following Hank into the captain's office.


	3. I'm not an android

Hank stormed out of the glass office, leaving Connor alone with Captain Fowler. He thought for a moment before speaking: "I'm very pleased to join the team. I can assure you I'll do my very best-"

"Close the door on your way out," the captain waved.

Connor turned his attention to the door, then to the seemingly faulty android still typing away at its desk, then back to his superior. "That VE001," he started, careful and articulate, "Captain, I believe it would be beneficial to my investigation if I were allowed to... borrow it."

He slowly raised his eyes to the android, narrowing his eyes, " _Borrow_ her? And what for, exactly?"

"It..." Connor corrected his diction to match the captain's. "She seems to be useful in terms of further understanding deviancy. Seeing as all she does is log interrogation records, I'm sure the absence of one android wouldn't be detrimental to the rest of the station."

The captain's gaze flicked to you for a moment. An incredulous expression formed on his face. "An android?"

Connor stared blankly for a moment, LED flashing yellow. "... The ID on her jacket is that of an android. Model VE001. She is owned by Gilbert Bougainvillea. She's property."

"Oh, for fuck's sake-" He slammed a fist on the desk, "What she _is_ isn't my business. If you want to take her, take her... Just have her back here when you're done." In all honesty, not even the Captain understood what you were. He was aware of your connections to CyberLife, but beyond that, he was in the dark.

"Get out, Connor."

His curiosity was piqued.

You turned from your monitor when you heard the captain's office door close, and watched Connor approach. "Detective," you greeted.

He spoke your name slowly, as if it were a new word in a foreign language. "You are to accompany Lieutenant Anderson and I to search for a deviant. I will go get the lieutenant. Meet us outside shortly."

The notion of being needed, of having a use, energized you. You quickly nodded at Connor, "Of course, Detective."

As he walked towards Lieutenant Anderson, you made your way up the steps to Captain Fowler. "Captain, the detective Connor has given me orders to leave the station. I wished to confirm with you that this would be-"

"It's fine," he said impatiently. Taking a breath to calm himself, he rephrased more gently, "It's alright, but don't do anything stupid, and _don't_ get in their way."

"Yes, sir."

You stepped out of the back seat of Lieutenant Anderson's car, taking in your surroundings. You'd never been to this part of the city before, which wasn't all that intriguing given you'd only ever taken taxis between the station and CyberLife building. You looked down at your hands, gloves already soaked by the rain. The added water weight threatened to pull them off. You clasped them in front of you.

"It took the first bus that came along, and stayed at the end of the line. Its decision wasn't planned. It was driven by fear." You looked up at Connor, who stood to your left.

Lieutenant Anderson scoffed, "Androids don't feel fear."

"Deviants do." His matter-of-fact response made you reflect for a moment. When was the last time you were afraid? That was easy. It was the last time you'd seen Lieutenant Commander Gilbert. Connor continued, "They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions."

Gilbert had praised you for your quick judgement. He'd said you were rational. Perfectly predictable. Attuned to him. His soft smile flashed in your mind. His emerald eyes. You reached up to rest your hand on your collar again, taking a breath and paying attention to the conversation.

"...it had nowhere to go." Connor speculated, "Maybe it didn't go far."

"Deviants don't function well in high-stress situations," you spoke. The two turned their eyes to you. You explained: "I learned that from your interrogation of a deviant yesterday afternoon. The model was an AX400..." You looked to Connor for confirmation. He nodded. "Regardless of being a deviant, without orders it would be most comfortable in a familiar environment. As a housekeeper, it would logically be drawn to-"

"A home." Connor finished. "Yes, I considered that."

As sensible as your conclusion seemed, the house was empty. There were traces of the deviant staying there, the most obvious being an LED on a sink upstairs. Connor seemed distracted by the kitchen, which had "ra9" scrawled all over the walls, and the signs of a recent fire. An android would have no need for it.

The house itself was still under investigation on the account of the corpse in the upstairs bathroom, but a different team of detectives would be assigned to tackle it. Lieutenant Anderson and Connor were to stay with their deviant cases.

While the lieutenant spoke with the other officers, you asked Connor, "Why did you require my presence?"

"My mission is to stop deviants and help CyberLife understand the cause for deviancy. You seem capable to assisting."

"In what way, Detective?"

"Deviants are... anomalies. They are flawed." He pointed to the blue triangle on your chest. "You are flawed. Your identity is an abnormality. Though, for a deviant you don't seem to be as... extreme as the previous cases I've dealt with."

You looked at the floor before resuming eye contact. "How does that pertain to your investigation?"

"I would like to see how your deviancy develops. It could give me clues as to how to predict and prevent future instances." The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. "I did consider arresting you, but the most natural circumstances yield the most accurate results. An android wouldn't deviate realistically in captivity."

You frowned before your expression became blank. "I apologize, but while your idea does have merit, I don't believe I'm suitable for observation."

"Why not?"

"Detective, I'm not an android."


	4. Three is a crowd

Connor blinked. Several times. His brows furrowed in unabashed confusion. He opened his mouth, then closed it, LED flashing yellow. After a minute of processing, he composed himself. "You're not an android."

"Yes..." You spoke slowly, "That's what I said, detective."

"You have a CyberLife android profile. I scanned you and found several biocomponents."

"I assure you, I am human."

A silence settled over the two of you. You deemed it appropriate to speak again: "If I am not here for the reason you intended, I will return to the station."

Connor's puzzled expression morphed into one of seemingly genuine alarm. He reached for your arm as you turned to walk away, calling your name. "Please, wait. I-"

I am laying on a table. There is a white light above me. It is hard to see. There are voices. They are coming from the right.

I turn my head to find their source. A man and woman are talking.

There is a word on the glass wall behind them: CyberLife. I am in the CyberLife building.

Her: "We send you to recover Russian tech and you come back with _a child_."

Him: "This kid _is_ Russian tech. They... did something to her. Lots of somethings. I promise, I didn't waste time."

Her: "That's for us to decide, Mr. Jacobs. You won't receive payment until we've confirmed its value. You're dismissed."

Him: "Confirm it soon, then."

He is walking away, but he pauses.

Him: "Be nice to her, yeah? Pet project or not, she's a kid."

Her: "I assure you, she will be well taken care of. Assuming she is worth the effort."

I cannot hear what the man says next. The door slides shut behind him. The woman is looking down at me. I can only see the silhouette of her head against the light. Strands of her hair feel soft on my face.

Her: "Welcome to CyberLife."

The memory left Connor reeling. When he opened his eyes, you were standing a few feet in front of him, holding your arm to your chest. He looked down and saw a black glove in his grip.

His eyes found your bare hand. It was white, that of an android whose skin projection was inactive. He took a cautionary step forward, but you didn't move. After your initial shock had faded, you didn't seem tense. A scan showed no signs of an elevated pulse or respiratory rate. Connor adjusted his tie, before extending his hand towards you, offering your glove back.

You took it. "If I may ask," you slipped it on. "Was probing my memories necessary?"

"You said you weren't an android."

"That's correct, I'm not."

"I'm unable to probe humans."

"As you said, I possess CyberLife-issued biocomponents. You probed #0003, my neurosensory log."

Connor felt the urge to touch you again- to learn more about you. As a detective, it was only natural for his programming to make him curious and inquisitive. He was following protocol to gather information. He was functioning as he should.

So why did he detect traces of software instability?

Connor called you. You were outside the house now, and he gazed at you through the doorway. His tone was hesitant: "If it isn't an inconvenience... I would like to... May I probe your memories again?"

There was no sign of discomfort in your stance. The concept of someone looking inside your head didn't seem to bother you, much to Connor's surprise. However, you were bothered by things you didn't understand. Connor could deduce that much from your insistence on replying to questions with more questions, so your next words were expected. "What for, detective?"

"A lesser investigation of mine."

You considered his request for a moment. "It wouldn't be an inconvenience at all. I only request a compromise."

"What would that be?"

"I want to continue following your investigation of deviancy."

"I will see if Lt. Anderson allows it, but why?"

"A lesser investigation of my own, detective."

Strangely, the lieutenant wasn't adamantly opposed to you joining them. He had gotten used to your ghost-like presence in the office and somewhat appreciated the quiet company. At first, he wasn't so tolerant of you, thinking you were an android, but Hank soon learned you were a human after asking Fowler why he brought you in one day. Once he'd mentioned 'injuries' and that an old military buddy asked him to pick you up from the hospital, Hank shrugged you off as a CyberLife agent with shitty people skills, and he wasn't that far off the mark.

You watched Connor exit the car to join the lieutenant outside a street vendor: Chicken Feed. You'd told them you'd be out shortly after making a call to Captain Fowler. He sounded surprised when he answered; you never actually called him before. "Is something wrong?"

"No, sir, I'm only calling to report the events of today's operation."

He made an irritated sound at your militant attitude. "And what of it? Anything important?"

"I am unsure of the importance, so I will let you judge. I am going to be following Lt. Anderson and Connor's progress with the deviant cases."

You practically heard his suspicious glare, "You want to help them?"

"Yes, sir. Will my present wishes conflict with any future orders?"

"No. There's nothing planned for you 'side from hours of typing, and I'm starting to think that transcribing might be a good way to discipline new officers."

"That concludes my report, Captain."

"Hmph," he hung up, and with that, you exited the car and joined Hank and Connor, who were standing and talking at a table.

"Is there anything you'd like to know about me?" Connor asked the lieutenant.

"Hell no," he said immediately, then stopped to think about it. "Well, yeah- Why did they make you look so goofy and give you that weird voice?"

"CyberLife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were specially designed to facilitate my integration."

Hank nodded thoughtfully, "Well, they fucked up."

That prompted you to examine Connor from your side of the table. You didn't understand what Hank meant by 'fucked up.' You were sure that if Connor was a human, many people would find him attractive. You tilted your head. _He isn't a human, but even so, I find his appearance and voice... pleasing. I would like to be around him more._

Lost in thought, you realized you missed the past few exchanges in the conversation. You tuned back in to hear Connor. "Maybe I should tell you what we know about deviants." Hank seemed to like that.

"You read my mind... Proceed." He resumed eating as he listened.

"We believe a mutation occurs in the software of some androids, which can lead to them emulating a human emotion."

The lieutenant threw you a glance, "Translate?"

"Oh," you said, expecting to only listen. "They don't actually feel emotions. They're overwhelmed by irrational instructions, and since they struggle to decide priority, it leads to unpredictable behavior."

Nodding, Hank replied, "Emotions always screw everything up... Maybe androids aren't as different from us as we thought."

You retreated back into your mind to think this bit over. Lt. Commander Gilbert had last ordered you to mature and learn to feel. You intended to do just that. But Lt. Anderson had said emotions were... detrimental to performance. Here were the irrational instructions, like you'd said. You asked yourself again: _Can a human be deviant?_

Turning your attention back to the conversation, you observed as Hank asked, "So what's your conclusion?"

Worrying he was addressing you, you opened your mouth to ask him to repeat the past sentence of two, but Connor responded, "I think working with an officer with... personal issues is an added challenge, but adapting to human unpredictability _is_ one of my features." He winked.

For some odd reason, you felt compelled to make an effort to commit that one moment to memory. Your biocomponent surely would've recorded it regardless, but this one time, you felt a conscious need to remember this. Strange.

Connor's LED flashed yellow in your periphery. "What was that?" you asked.

"A report of a suspected deviant. It's a few blocks away." He glanced in what you assumed was the direction of the deviant. "We should go have a look... I'll let you finish your meal. I'll be in the car if you need me." Connor looked to you and tilted his head the direction of the car, gesturing for you to follow suit.

Before you did, you turned to Hank. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for letting me accompany you." After getting a curt nod in reply, you turned and followed Connor.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket before you got in the back seat of the car. It was a text from the captain with an attached image. Time froze around you as a sense of urgency slammed into your chest. Instead, you opened the passenger door, where Connor was sitting.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to join you this time. I need to get back to the station."

He stole a glance at your phone screen, still in your hand, and read "J. Fowler" across the top of the screen. Nodding, he asked, "Is this matter that pressing?"

"Yes," you said immediately. You saw Hank approaching the car now. "Don't let me slow you down. Go on and see about the deviant. You can find me at the station tomorrow morning."

As you started walking the direction of the station, hoping to catch a taxi the rest of the way, Connor called to you, "Tomorrow then."


End file.
